


Cola

by nakedhelot



Category: One Piece
Genre: CALIFORNIIIIAAAAAAAA, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, So I wrote this listening to a playlist of Kendrick + RHCP + Lana Del Ray let that guide you, also is this detailed sex i don't know possibly detailed sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:36:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2776703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakedhelot/pseuds/nakedhelot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You figure after midnight it’s pretty safe to drive home because all the police will be busy with teenagers fucking around. Hopefully. You itch for a smoke, so you both go back to the car roll the windows down and smoke. Zoro stands up and disappears for a bit but somehow you know he’ll be back. He comes back with a bottle of Jack and some cola. Is it bad of you to say you aren’t minding how this night is unfolding, at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cola

 

You’ve got a boy.

He’s Japanese but he grew up in Hawaii and he wears ridiculous Hawaiian shirts with all the buttons undone and, my god, his hair is green but.

You’ve got this boy, who lives in the room three doors to the right of yours. One way or another, he stays in your mind.

* * *

You’ve got a boy.

He’s French but he grew up in Japan and isn’t that just funny. Not as funny as his eyebrows because you didn’t know facial hair could even work that way and.

See he lives. He lives on your floor. The leftovers he brings are the best meals you’ve ever had.

* * *

California is a strange place to live if you haven’t grown up there. The feeling of being a tourist whose overstayed his novelty never really goes away. For someone who’s usually so heavy footed, Zoro does pretty well getting from the hospital to the seat of your car in crutches, a cast on his left leg and a brace on his neck. You drive with all the windows rolled down, one hand with a cigarette and the other on the wheel, listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers because you like cliches.

* * *

It’s really hot, but at least you have full use of your leg and neck, and more importantly, you’re free to leave them undressed. Your motorcycle waited this long to get fixed up and you’re sure as hell not going to make her wait any longer. It’s noon and you break for a can of beer, smelling of motor oil. Money Trees makes it's way onto the shuffle rotation as soon as Sanji’s car rolls onto it’s parking space. You watch him step out, look at you and light one. You didn’t expect him to squat next to you, help himself to a can and look through your playlist. Even through the motor oil, alcohol and smoke, you can still smell perfume on him. Both his cologne from last night and the smell of candy and flowers.

* * *

You can’t help yourself. He’s annoying, a slob, funny, fit as fuck, he sleeps all day, you don’t know where he goes at night, dumb as brick, says things you’ve thought but couldn’t put into words, his hair is green, end of story. You want to know what he looks like in bed and something’s wrong with you. You’re asking to get hit. He shows up at your door at four in the morning and you’re ready to blow a fuse because Viola’s over and what the fuck it’s. He’s bleeding out of his eye and all over his torso and you pull him inside, lock all seven of your locks and light two cigarettes.

* * *

You can’t help yourself. He’s just standing there, all alone, like a deliverance. You’re mistaken. You don’t know how you get home but you do except your key’s not working and you hear grumbling on the other side of the wood and shit they work fast you can’t really think there’s too many things rushing through your blood right now the door’s opening and you have half a blade in your hand you’re not even holding properly fuck you haven’t worked hard enough have you not fooling anybody you clutch tighter.

* * *

Viola stares at you as you stare at his chest trying to stitch it up enough so that his insides don’t spill out. It’s not much different to stitching up a turkey so the forcemeat stays put. You hear Viola pull a breath, about to say something and the apologies start flowing out of you like mantra. When she finishes helping you load the washing machine and wash your hands, you finally gather the balls to look at her. It’s eight in the morning and she’s freshly showered, fully dressed, looking like she had a full eight hours of sleep. You lead her to the door like a good friend.

* * *

You can’t really move so you have no choice to stare at him doing lines. Alone. Like a pathetic loser. So maybe you wouldn’t mind doing a short one but the look he gives you at that suggestion makes you realise that the effort of persuasion wouldn’t be worth the high. It pisses you off because that’s your coke and he’s licking his finger and rubbing the last of it into his gums but he’s been keeping you alive the past couple of days so.

* * *

“Doesn’t it take a lot of money to keep your hair green?”

 “What makes you say that?”

 “You’re Japanese right? So bleaching your hair must be, like, a double double process.”

 “Apparently, I’m half Spanish. I have real light hair for an Asian. I get the green dye from a dollar store.”

 “Why green though?”

 “Why not? Anyway, what the fuck is up with your eyebrows?”

* * *

So. The carpet does not match the drapes. The carpet is a weird light brown, dark blonde, whatever colour that you can’t really sell in bottles. Of all the things to update in your fantasies, that’s what you edit first. You’re cracked. Scratch that. He’s on his knees, totally naked, your sutures across his clavicle as he makes out with Viola. Okay. Viola is in expensive lingerie. The latest from The Agent Provocateur window you passed by the other day. It’s a white number, all mesh and thin threads. The bra is half-cup, so her breasts spill out just a little, and you only see half of her areolae. Her nipples stick out. You switch between a g-string hipster or a high cut thong for a little bit before you stick to the thong because the cut of it does wonders for her thighs. That means you that her thigh highs go without the suspender garters, but thats imagery you can save for another day. They make out more, and Zoro pulls one half of the bra down so her right breast is exposed. Viola curls a hand around Zoro’s erection, her nails short but painted, white as well, and jacks him slowly. Shit. They pant a little as they part, and you try not to let reality seep in at this point, because they definitely would be nowhere close to out of breath had that happened in real life. Anyway, they take turns on your dick. Viola takes half of you into her mouth, her other hand is still jacking Zoro off. Zoro is. Fuck. Okay. You did not expect to like that idea as much as, as you're liking it right now. Okay. So. Zoro is sucking on your balls like he has all the fucking time in the world. Slow, sloppy and with a lot of tongue. You moan, and he can feel the Zoro in your head, what the fuck, smile at that, because in your head, your balls are in Zoro’s mouth. You are fucked. So fucked. Anyway. They pull off and you watch Zoro and Viola make out again. You watch Zoro trail down her body, as she undoes the front clasp of her bra altogether and plays with her breasts, leaning back. Zoro shifts the thong out of the way with his tongue and Viola shivers all over. It takes a lot of meditative breathing for you to calm down. Viola is now sitting between Zoro’s legs, as Zoro rubs at her lightly. This time they’re both on you at once. Their mouths trying to find each other, like their trying to make out over the expanse of your cock. Oh fucking shit. Heat pools at the place where the v of your hips meet. They both pull off and Zoro is sucking on Viola’s neck, Viola trying to sink into his shoulders. She moans like she’s trying to hold back and the way she arches makes you ache. Zoro’s on his own now, looking up at you lazy and eager all the same. Like how he does everything else. He’s hard but you know he’s come at least once already because this is your world, and you’re a nice fucking guy. So this is how Zoro starts. He sucks at the place between your cock and your balls. Licks filthy at it. Then his tongue is flat against the head, and the freeze frame gives you a nice reference point to repeat in future sessions. He wraps his mouth around your head as he shifts onto his hands and knees. Suddenly there’s a mirror behind him and wow you are on a roll. He takes you deeper at the same pace that he rocks his body towards and away from you real subtly. Okay. So. You really hope that Zoro can deep throat in real life. And you really hope that he’ll deep throat you. Because if the fantasy makes all the muscles in your thighs and abs seize, just. You don’t even know, fuck it just feels amazing. You’re fucking his mouth now, and he lets you, his eyes sharp and the blush on his cheeks high. Oh wow. Everything you can feel tenses and your brain goes static. Ah fuck, fuck, fuck. You didn’t even know orgasms could hit that hard or last that long. You smoke half a pack tonight.

* * *

You get to thinking. Why is your hair green? A few cans later, you come to this conclusion. You were a kid, and it was the last time you would ever run away, but you needed to change. Right then and there. You come across an Asian grocery, about as big as the bathroom in your last house, packed in a way that violated all fire safety and sprinkler regulations. You needed to make your money last, and you weren’t going to pay nine whole dollars so your hair could be a darker shade of brown. Or blonde. Or whatever you hair color was. Anyway, there’s a rusty shopping basket from a time when shopping baskets were still made of metal, sitting on top of boxes of unpacked instant noodles. A sheet of crumpled, stained office paper with ‘Sale’ written on it in faded marker duct taped on one side. Inside is a box of crackers with a faded best before date. VHS of Asian soaps that looked like they were produced in the 70s. A box of green hair dye, instructions all in Japanese. One dollar. You could work with that. A few years later some weak assholes try and make fun of your hair. You fuck them up. And from there more keep coming and you fuck those assholes up as well, until it becomes the closest you’ll have to a thing. It’s your personal little in joke. That and the fact you never tire of finding that no matter where you go, there will be a dollar store with a dollar box of green hair dye waiting for you in a bargain bin.

* * *

You talk to Viola about how much of an absolute dickhead you are. In no crass terms, but, that’s the general gist of it. She’s angry, with you, a little at herself, but mostly, most definitely at you. You get hit. A lot. And you’d like to be a proper fucking knight and say, it didn’t hurt, but Viola is a lady. Lady’s knew how to fuck dickheads like you up. You apologise and she tells you to shut up and shoves two cans of beer at you. One to gently push the bridge of your nose back into place, and the other to drown your sorrows into. She tells you to get your act together, snidely, sincerely, over her tall glass of wine.

* * *

You notice when you pick Sanji up from the restaurant on the way home. All four of his tires got slashed because he’s a bitchy motherfucker and his car’s in the chop shop. He doesn’t do the weird is-this-homo thing that a lot of your friends struggle with on their first ride on your bike. Bluntly, he feels you up every now and then, at a stop light, or when you’re pausing to check left and right. At a particularly long red light, he follows the bumps of the scar on your upper hip, torso, chest, collarbones. You speed through the tunnel and he clutches you tighter. Doesn’t make a comment about how if he were driving you would both be home half an hour ago. You end up having to top up your gas and he asks you to buy a pack and in exchange he’ll make sure no one steals your bike. You look at him sitting on your bike, cigarette between teeth, ready to light up as soon as you pull out of the gas station because you’re used to his second hand smoke. His legs are real long.

* * *

You get into a bar fight together because that was bound to happen sooner or later. It’s stupid because it wasn’t even seven yet. You were just trying to kill some time before you had to pick up your car, and of course you walk into the same bar Zoro decided to leave his house for, for once. Right. The bar starts filling up and it’s a Friday, so people are here early for after work drinks and they all get sloshed pretty quickly. Someone says something dumb about Zoro’s hair and Zoro doesn’t take it well, and that same idiot comes to the conclusion that you and Zoro are here together, like an idiot would, and makes a comment about your eyebrows, like an idiot would, and things get said and people in his idiot group make idiot comments about how you and Zoro are here together like a bunch of fucking idiots would. Anyway, it’s a bit fucked and not what you wanted to do this Friday night, but you both clean up and the bar owner knows Zoro somehow and just tells him to fuck off, without the cop-calling part, that was cool of him, so you both head towards your mechanic a couple blocks away, and your car is good. You forgot that it was a Friday and that breath tests would be at every corner on the way home, and you didn’t really mean to drink that much but anything to do with Zoro just messed you up a little, you know. You risk it and drive to the closest restaurant with a carpark, some pancake place, and shit, were you both actually going to fucking camp. At a Pancake House carpark. This is a new low, even for you. Zoro is calling you a wimp and wants to take public transport home, but fuck if you were leaving your car all over again. More importantly, fuck public transport on a Friday night. Zoro’s hand is on the door handle, and everything about him says he’s gonna leg it, but he ends up staying, and you are not relieved at all. You both buy food. It’s good because you’re starving and nights like these are best complemented with trashy comfort food. You figure after midnight it’s pretty safe to drive home because all the police will be busy with teenagers fucking around. Hopefully. You itch for a smoke, so you both go back to the car roll the windows down and smoke. Zoro stands up and disappears for a bit but somehow you know he’ll be back. He comes back with a bottle of Jack and some cola. It's bad of you to say but you aren’t minding how this night is unfolding, at all.

* * *

You’re not doing a lot of chasing, so the cola is more for Swirly’s sake. You take a straight shot of whiskey as Sanji rifles through his glove box, fishing out the maintenance book. He gets to a page, stops suddenly, and grins. Says something like, Gin you bad motherfucker. He holds up a bag, those little seal bags that have your extra laces when you buy a pricey Nike shoe, the ones with the tick on it, and legit, it's more than half an ounce of coke in there. What the fuck. Sanji re-parks the car in the darkest corner of the lot, like a true shifty fuck, has a drink, lights up a cigarette and starts racking up on his phone. You provide a fifty. You both do one line each, and you can tell straight away, it’s good. He licks his bank card, hands his phone over and you lick it. You have no fucking idea how you're gonna get home at this rate, but he doesn’t cut anymore and just smokes for a bit. You adjust the back of you're seat and lean back a little. You don’t know how long that goes for but you just feel the car starting up. You sit up and the radio tells me it’s half past twelve. Apparently Sanji’s grown some. Sanji is good at driving high, he knows where to turn so you don't run into police, and how not to crash into other things on the road. You get home easily and part at the elevator.

* * *

Zoro disappears for a couple of weeks, so when you hear his clunking boots limp out of the elevator and his door opening, you’re over there before it can shut. He acts as if he’s used to it. It’s not so bad this time around, some shallow scars on his ankles and blood everywhere, but nothing to be really worried about. The idiot doesn’t have any first aid supplies left so, typically, you make him wash his ankles with Jack. He grumbles about the waste of alcohol then takes a shot of it. He’s fine. Whatever. You tell him to shower before he sleeps and you’re pretty fucking pleased when you hear his shower running from my bedroom. You don’t really talk about what you do. You know that he works with the police, not for the police, and he knows that the restaurant isn’t your only job as much as you love it. Sometimes you feel that Zoro is a lot closer to your world than you would first guess and that’s scary as it is exciting. You knock on his door and tell him there’s food at yours if he gets hungry, and two hours later, he shows up looking a little kicked and you have a late lunch on the balcony. It’s not as hot as hell’s asshole so you suppose winter is finally around and the smoke you exhale looks cooler than usual. Sick. He’s bought the Jack with him, for himself, because he knows that you drink wine unless you absolutely can’t help it. And you both just shit talk. You watch the European A League on ESPN and end up doing lines again and both you and Zoro swear that this isn’t a problem for either of you to one another. You finish what’s left of the Nike baggie.

* * *

Sanji is good at kissing. You started it but he sure knows how to keep up. Okay what the hell, you let him take over. You end up on his lap. His thighs are hard, you like that. You like that he gropes your ass, you like the strength in his shoulder blades. Definitely not just a chef. You dig it. You end up making out real hot and it’s been a long time for you, so you might be feeling a little more into it than you’re used to from yourself. He does things to you that makes you want to moan into his mouth. You moan into his mouth. Suddenly he gets up, and takes you with him and what the fuck he can carry you. You are bigger than him but he’s carrying you without a sweat, and you find that ridiculously hot. You’re pressed against a door as he fumbles with the knob, and you don’t mind this at all. There’s a bit more than accidental grinding happening and you welcome it. He pulls away from your lips and swears because he still can’t get the door open so you take that chance to kiss at his jaw, he responds by biting at your ear, flicking your earrings and sucking at your collarbone, and his precision is killing you. You reward him by grinding back a bit. You’re both on his bed now, unmade and smelling of cigarettes. He takes off his shirt, and. Yeah. Definitely not just a chef. He pulls your pants off kisses the top of both your knee caps before slowly pushing them apart, trailing kisses down the inside of your right thigh. His tongue finds a nice ridge of muscle and follows it all the way down to where your thigh and hip meet. He says something about the colour of your hair, and yeah you agree you don’t really know what to call it either. He sucks at the base of your cock, follows it up to the head, before he takes you all the way into his mouth. Fuck. Not just a ladies man for sure. He’s got a good hand around your balls as well and he plays with your cock head a bit. It feels too good, you can’t help but rock gently into his mouth. He pulls off, but you keep rocking, and he looks at you like he likes the way you roll your hips. He mouths at your hip bones, tongues at your scar and follows it all the way up to your clavicle. He kisses you rough, as he fumbles at something in his dresser. You realise it’s lube only when he’s sucking you off again, fingering you with something that rapidly warms and, wow. Yes. You’re grinding against his mouth, and his long knobby fingers in you and you want something on your mouth, in your mouth. You’re panting at air and licking your lips, and he’s stretching you now. You ask him if you can put the condom on him, and he stops sucking. His fingers keep going as he slowly lifts off your cock and he looks at your, your mouth open and wanting and he kisses you deep and thank god, you suck on his tongue, play with it in your mouth and he’s moaning and the beat of his fingers breaks rhythm. You realise you’re drooling. He holds up the condom packet and you ask him to open it for you, his fingers balance it on the tip of your tongue, and his eyes darken as he realises what you’re doing. He leans back, weight on his elbows and pulls his pants down just a little, just where it matters. You lean forward and put the condom on him with your mouth. In a half-thought, you wish you thought of sucking him off before you put the condom on him because he’s got a neat bit of foreskin and you would have loved to see him go crazy at you playing with it. Anyway, you suck him off. He’s really vocal about it too and you like that a lot. You’re on your hands and knees as you stretch yourself, mouth still on him and he pulls you off by your hair. You glare at him but he looks so fucking desperate you can’t help but grin. You crawl up until his hips are in between your knees, and you grind against him, your balls pressing and rolling into each other because you’re a bit of a slut for that. He bites at your collarbone and you press him back down. You guide his cock to your hole and you sink, and you watch him watch that, watch you, and it gets you real hot. You ride him slow, feel the drag of him in you because for a lean motherfucker he has a real nice dick and fuck it feels good inside you. He’s rubbing at your hips then squeezing your ass and you like that he looks a bit overwhelmed with all of you like he doesn’t know where to start. You lean down, suck at his bottom lip and you suck at each other’s tongues again. His hands are now at your ass and he helps you really feel him. You let him take over the pace and he flips you so that you’re on the bed lying down again. His dick inside you stills and he asks you to wait. You pant, What the fuck. He reaches into the back pocket of his pants and pulls out a fucking cigarette. You groan. Please. No. He places it between his lips, and he motherfucking lights it. He takes a puff, looks at you and smirks. Shit. He hikes up your legs so your knees are on his shoulders and he fucks. You. Up. Rams into you in that place that makes everything feel better, smoking away, smirking away, looking at you like he could eat you for fucking breakfast and fuck would you like that. You grab onto the bars of his bed-frame and hang on to dear fucking life because fuck this smoking motherfucker wins this round. He comes as he reaches the end of his cigarette, thrusting hard and fast and you feel the warmth of his cum through the condom and you fucking want that condom gone. And then he takes the filter out of his mouth he kisses you, you taste the tobacco on him and he keeps coming and you feel it so much all of it so much and you’re. You’re gone.

* * *

You're in a 5-star hotel in San Diego and bored out of your mind. You can't even chat up any ladies because Chef actually used manners when he asked you to, please, not offend any motherfuckers you encounter. That means no flirting. Which was such a fucking shame because there were some beautiful people in this room. You head out to the terrace to smoke your frustrations away and you see him from there. On the pool level wearing a fucking suit. The suit cuts him right and you're not the only one who picks up on it. Good. So you aren't going nuts for finding the slob attractive. After you finish the necessary sussing out, you flick the lights on in your corner room, floor to ceiling view of the skyline and the sea. Nothing's out of place but your hair prickles anyway. You turn around to find your shoe centimetres away from fucking up Zoro's face. You change trajectory, hook your feet over Zoro's shoulder and pull him towards you.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay let me save face. This is unbeta-ed and very roughly skimmed over so not really edited self-indulgent pile of words. I'm sorry for any mistakes I'm sorry for not being bothered to fix them. Also I'm sorry if I wrote the sex bad. It just went there I swear to god all i wanted to write was zoro and sanji being losers in california but it just went there! I could go on all day about my shortcomings but no one really wants to see that so thanks for reading, if you got this far, and leave a review if you're bothered? Cheers.


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